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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048395">Annals of the Cursed Depths</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond'>ZorialDiamond</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Runescape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Archaeology, Boss Introductions, ED3, Gen, Mind Games, OC Power Trio, Orthen Spoilers, character moments, dramatic monologuing, implied cross universe shenanigans, tasteful edge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:42:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
            <p>The sea in the ruins of Ulthven Kreath conceals many secrets and horrors, and young Alcana, among friends, rise to confront them.</p>
          </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Through the Grapevine of Worlds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The sea in the ruins of Ulthven Kreath conceals many secrets and horrors, and young Alcana, among friends, rise to confront them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One would be surprised how little difference fighting deep beneath the waves would be to the world above, given enough conviction and sea legs. The brine of the depths, the bubbles rising from the abyss to the sunlight above, the occasional brush of seaweed, the damp sand under ones' feet.</p><p>The cultist couldn’t even get out another cry for Crassian help before the shining flail of Alcana Theresus descended, falling to the seafloor much like the others left in their trio’s wake. A hand cupped around her ear, there was the satisfying hum of the barriers Madame Shih rigged falling once again. </p><p>“I’m sensing something bigger up ahead. Brace yourselves,” the paladin informed, as Zorial and Silvarius both advanced into the abyssal cove of a shipwreck. The water seemed too still, like the  calm before the storm, as the wight stepped in last.</p><p>The eyes of the serpentine abomination noticed, and were noticed by Alcana first. There wasn’t the same obvious mess of tentacles, claws, and pattern of carapace that marked the rest of them...but it instantly registered as Crassian nonetheless in the detailings of its aberrant flesh. Though, if the last horror of this sort inhabiting a shipwreck was any indication, this was only a small peek at its true monstrosity.</p><p>But, as they approached, it was the sudden appearance of another that drew the eyes of the trio upward, their very quarry seemed to appear from the void, unhindered by typical conceptions of space and time.</p><p>“So, you are the ones sent to kill me”, the Ambassador mused, the deep voice echoing across the depths with an otherworldly tenor, limbs like the fins of twisted whales extending out as it spoke.  “With all your clamor, I was expecting something more...special.”<br/><br/>“Someone like you who threatens to bring ruin on this world doesn’t deserve ‘special treatment’,” Alcana interjected, staring down its alien eyes and mandibles with a tightened grip on her weapon, holding it high in front of her. “I am sworn to defend it for the order and peace of the lives within!”</p><p>“This is known,” it replied, folding in its ‘arms’ again. “As are other things. And against such things, you are found wanting.” </p><p>She grit her teeth, her own eyes glancing between the one one known as ‘Kranon’ and the serpentine Crassian seemingly waiting for whatever given word to strike.</p><p>“As if I’d care for the judgment of an abomination like you...but very well, humor me. Just what in your twisted scales finds me ‘lacking’?”</p><p>“You, yourself. But not as you stand before me now...this you.” The twisted Dragonkin’s eyes seemed to regard her indeed...they also seemed to be looking across untold distances, into voids infinity, things beyond. “We hear of others...another, of far greater potential.”</p><p>“...And just why should that matter for what’s right here and now? All I see is you stalling for time,” The front foot of her stance held strong...the back foot slipped ever so slightly.  </p><p>“Don’t let him get in your head,” Silvarius advised with creased brows, a set of shadowy shots conjured along his spindly spidery bow for any moment.</p><p>“You’re our friend, and we’ve fought back this darkness together so far!” Zorial smiled, the hum of light extending along Sunspear’s refined length.</p><p>“Another you...another world…” Kranon’s arms sweeped wide over the serpentine aberration, the skitterings of the other crustacean horrors beyond the barriers heard scuttling in the distance. “A world where you stand over these ones...as Queen.” </p><p>“I’m sorry, WHAT!?” Alcana exclaimed without thinking, just barely catching herself from falling as her back foot pressed deeper into the sand. She glanced at the faces of Zorial and Silvarius; the former’s face as dumbstruck as her own, the latter’s an admonition. She gazed back at the Ambassador again, reasserting her clenched brow and teeth. </p><p>“I did not misspeak. Indeed...it was no accident, but your own willing salvation, and a glorious one at that.” She glanced about, at the eyes of the many undulating faces, at the one gilded in some false eldritch glory before her, before settling singly on the mutated Dragonkin once again.</p><p>“Was?!...You’re mad! If you were going to tell a lie to psych me out, at least don’t insult me and tell me one that’s somewhat believable!” She stomped forward, the chain of the flail tinkling with her tightened fist, glowing ever so slightly with holy energy.</p><p>“She’s stood through things that would make most people lose their minds and come out all the better. You’re speaking nonsense!” Zorial echoed, the ringing song of crystal from her voice now filling the depths in opposition. She glanced over to Silvarius, his face twisted in subtle consternation.</p><p>“...Never underestimate what mortals are capable of in their desperation. That being said...your words indeed mean nothing for the here and now, Kranon.” Now the shadow settled around Silvarius like an aura of onyx and white flame.</p><p>“If you shall not hear my words...then it seems you would do best to play with my pet,” he proclaimed, the heads hissing and seeming to steam with some kind of ungodly venom. “It would be better for you to not be in the world we are creating.”<br/><br/>The flail’s chain tinkled, and bloomed with holy light. Her shield, strong at her side with Edgeville’s emblem. Now disregarding the Ambassador, Alcana rushed forward to the Leviathan’s main head, and brought the weapon’s head high as it reared up. One swipe down. An abyssal screech, as a fang fell to the seafloor, smoking with radiant energy.</p><p>Alcana scoffed. “You’re assuming we’ll ever let you get that far.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew, that was a fun one! I kept meaning to write an Elite Dungeons 3 fic for a while...but I decided to pare it down to the really juicy bits, namely the character moments introducing the bosses. Also, Zorial, Silvy, and Al make a great trio navigating these perils. (The former two will have their chance to shine, assuming I have the time and will to write them...)</p><p>For the unaware, Alcana now has two versions...her original 6th Age incarnation, and now a D&amp;D self from a Runescape themed game who has...some very interesting divergences from my original vision for her due to the the story some curveballs, heh...and there's definitely been a bit of bleed between them in terms of backstory and fighting style/abilities. This seemed like a neat place to bring in a (vague) reference. Kranon's technically right, but there's a lot of context missing...whether intentionally or unintentionally, that's up to you to figure.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Sacred Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Within the ruined depths of Ultven Kreath, Silvarius takes the lead in standing off against one proud dragonkin necromancer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was not the rote dogma of prejudice against the darker magicks that made Silvarius Ivanov hate the art of necromancy. No, he knew the pain of the maiming of his own soul all too up close and personally amongst Sliske’s throng for far longer than many human lifetimes. Which of course, made the stink of undead being carelessly gathered in Ulthven Kreath fill him with a sense of instinctive physical sickness that should be impossible for one with a dead stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcana grunted, breathing labored as she kicked aside another re-killed corpse. “That’s a rather large undead presence up ahead...exceptionally so…Be on your guard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zorial piped up, her peppy demeanor as light as the glow of crystal from her weapon, bubbles and fish scattering as she waved it about. “Take it easy...you showed that Leviathan who’s boss! But you’re the expert on all these eldritch nasties here, so you can stay back a bit on this one in case we meet another...”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Silvarius spoke up next, already advancing ahead of them. “Oh, I know...and I agree...because I will be taking the lead on what’s ahead here,” he declared, resolutely, brow furrowed, teeth clenched, shadowy vapors being drawn to and curling around his outstretched right palm. “I smell it...The undeniable scent of suffering and despair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One more shot with a keen arrow of shadow, and the threshold fell with an otherworldly echo. The three then proceeded briskly through the long hallway beyond, a few low walls forming a ramp doing little to obscure the room itself. Framed with two obelisks of black stone, not too unlike those that had appeared previously in the sunken ruins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course, it was the one the pillars that were framing that were of far more interest. A far less so, but still twisted dragonkin, with twin threads of unlife and eldritch influence alike. Whispers earlier had pinned down a ‘Taraket’ - this must be him, Silvarius thought, as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as he did, Taraket let out a hearty glubbing laugh, echoing in the chamber and around the depths. Extending hands, wings, and even a couple extra appendages in a wide display. “So, the meddlers finally make their way here, charging to their untimely deaths!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first Silvarius said nothing, just looking him dead in the eye with unwavering focus, left hand tightly gripped on his bow. “But who is truly the meddler here, the one desecrating countless mortal souls, or us, for simply wanting to stop you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taraket simply lowered his arms and chuckled. “They will be fuel for a higher purpose and power than anything they would have done in their small lives...though I do also get what’s left behind. You cannot thwart Kranon’s purposes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dragonkin paused then, leaning forward, looking the not-so-young wight up and down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have we here? A puppet, and a puppet whose strings hang loose. So liable to be tangled on anything, and an interesting specimen...how unfortunate! Perhaps I shall add you to my collection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was a purposeful stare sharpened into a glare, and one with far more accuracy than even the arcane arrows on his spidery bow. Almost in an unspoken signal, Alcana and Zorial approached from behind and moved around opposite edges of the chamber towards the obelisks, weapons drawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes...collections. I indeed already escaped from one macabre ‘collection’, and I do not intend to be added to another, yours or otherwise. Oh, I know your sort all too well.” Now he raised his bow, the tendrils surrounding his arms now straightening into three shadowy projectiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you’re above judgment. Greater than everyone else, and have the right to play around with their lives because of a few magic tricks.” He couldn’t help but bring to mind the many raised dead here, many of which looked like unfortunate adventurers, sailors, pirates, a myriad of lives. Now tied on strings, trapped, drowning, despairing, and as a last insult, denied the rest of their souls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with every thought, the aura of darkness around Silvarius Ivanov grew thicker and thicker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d always suspected this attunement, this power from the suffering of others was another one of Sliske’s cruel jokes. A complement to the cackly bastard whose deal signing landed him and so many others in this mess, reaping what he sewed. No, now that he was free, he had other ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Taraket lept and ascended higher into the water, his wings scattering dust and bubbles like a pillar of smoke. The laughing was really starting to grate on the wight. “You amuse me in your declarations, puppet, but I am a master of death. Now, why don’t you come join the others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised a talon, beckoning as the path of his finger seemed to cause a corresponding rip in reality to form. Threads, weaving together dead forms that then rose, but ones which Silvarius was able to sidestep with relative ease. He finally broke eye contact to chuckle a bit himself, smirking as he brushed aside some silvery locks with his free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I do believe you’ve misread what’s happening here, dear dragonkin. I’m not your new  toy...I’m your gods-damned reckoning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness surrounding him reached a fever pitch, then split into three, three shadowy copies of the wight, which now all trained their own shots on him. As expected, Alcana already had a grip on the holy symbol on her shield, and Zorial’s Sunspear was shining and resonating with what was sure to be a brilliant display of searing light. Of course he’d be too occupied with his proclamations to notice his teammates getting into position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One last look, one last determined stare from the wight before it all broke loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Know this, Taraket - I’m only as strong as your sins have made me.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another chapter! My more recent ficcing efforts have focused on Silvy being a bit more well adjusted in his archaeology gig, but I was in the mood to write more of the tasteful edgelord he was before...feels a bit like seeing an old friend you haven't in a while. Man, these chapters are so much fun to write because I know the voices of my trio and ED3 has fantastic voiceacting. Hope you enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Black Stone and Crystal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eldritch darkness and the light of our heroes finally come to the anticipated clash in both word and weapon, with Icyenic World Guardian Zorial leading the charge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zorial had heard the whispers throughout that entire watery ruin of Ulthven Kreath, but it was another thing to see the full extent of what they meant.</p><p>Alcana, flail held high, seemed to smack the reanimation straight out of the armored undead on patrol near the next barrier. Another threatened to stab her in the back, but a swift shadowy projectile shot by Silvarius put an end to those ambitions. With that, a ring sounded through their ears as another barrier vanished in the Icyene's presence.</p><p>"I sense some more strong undead around the bend here. We should be careful," the Shieldsworn paladin remarked with conviction, seeming to grip her flail so hard the leather bindings on its hilt would be imprinted into her skin. "One in particular seems almost...unusually strong."</p><p>"Well, someone else besides Taraket has to keep the souls damned in undeath, I suppose. Contingency and all. Even Sliske kept<em> that bastard </em> around for that reason," the wight quipped dryly, giving the webbing of his bow a few twangs.</p><p>"Careful proceeding it is, then," Zorial nodded, a firm grip on Sunspear as she took measured steps into the chamber with friends in tow.</p><p>"Ah. I wondered when you might interfere." A familiar measured, distinguished voice. Meeting its source, the Icyene's brow furrowed. Soul piercing blue eyes. A wizened dark face framed with black feathers. Gleaming red gems and light armoring over a mage's garb. "You and your companions."</p><p>"So that's why I've heard the talk of Magisters around," the Slayer Master muttered, her normally bright youthful tone gaining a serious cadence as she angled the spear in his direction. "You're here." </p><p>"You know this person?" Alcana questioned, glancing at Zorial before glancing back at the not-so-stranger.</p><p>"His name is Oreb. He made a mess of Menaphos trying to gather souls."  Zorial clarified, glancing her way, before returning to meeting the Magister's gaze. "I don't know why you're here but I doubt it's for the greater good."</p><p>"Is it not? How much do you truly understand about what's happening here?" He angled his staff in her direction, seeming to match her poise. Contempt seemed to seize Alcana's brow as if the man had just spoken blasphemy.</p><p>"Regardless of whatever it is, desecrating the spirits of the dead is not helping your case<em> ," </em>Silvarius judged under his breath.</p><p>"I've learned more than enough about them and seen their doings. These creatures don't belong in this world and whoever they serve would be an infinitely greater danger!" Alcana proclaimed, stepping a foot towards Oreb and giving her flail head a twirl.</p><p>The perusal of the other two peculiar souls had nearly made him overlook the third that now interrupted his ponderings. A young one, couldn't be older than 30 years. Bright, resolute, an unusual level of conviction...yet kept within bounds. Observing the well armored woman, a familiar four pointed star shed light as to why.</p><p>"Oh, do you really now," he chuckled, lowering his staff. "To your credit, you're far ahead of your youth in your soul's strength. It's a shame you're squandering it like this, crashing blindly into matters you don't understand."</p><p>"I beg your pardon?" Alcana reacted, more contempt than confusion on her face.</p><p>"You merely see monsters here, do you not? Black and white. Good and evil. Things are hardly as neat as the tenets you are a slave to would suggest." For some reason, this 'Oreb' seemed to sound more like a lecturer than an adversary as he appraised the paladin. </p><p>"My order is better than that," she defended, subconsciously raising her shield. "All knowledge has a good use, even the 'unholy' for defending against harm."</p><p>"That may very well be," the Magister mused, red lightning crackling off the head of his staff "yet it is but one step outside the bounds. Do you not still hide behind some sense of 'order' for your comfort? That answers are clear cut, simple and straightforward if only you just think about them long enough? So close, and yet so far away."</p><p>"But it's not just about me," she retorted. "It's for defending others who can't and making a world where they can flourish, whoever they may be. And a world doomed by whatever this Ambassador is going to bring forth certainly won't bring that!" Her voice echoed across the watery ruins as her soul spoke forth.</p><p>"A world without strife where the weak and strong alike ultimately languish, where one leans on the other and does no work, and where rest takes the strength of the other, and they fall together." He mused, seeming to flick away her words like a buzzing mosquito. "You fail to understand what's truly at stake."</p><p>"Do I?!" A fury gripped her face as she readied her flail for a strike. "Tell that to my friends! TELL THAT TO ASHDALE!" With a great leap, she raised her flail up high, aiming for the man's head. </p><p>"Alcana, WAIT!" Zorial yelled, moving to intercept her strike, but it was too late.</p><p>It was all too easy to predict. He batted away the flail head with his staff. Alcana only barely registered Zorial's words as the strange crimson sparks impacted into her chestplate, knocking her back and onto the sea floor. </p><p>“Let me deal with him,” Zorial insisted, then letting light crackle along Sunspear’s length once more, matching the red sparks of the Magister. He merely chuckled.</p><p>“Ever the hero, are you, young Icyene...but do you even believe in your cause anymore? You know I’ll be back soon enough, just like your own undead friend.”  Silvarius glared at him.</p><p>She didn’t answer him with words. But the light in her eyes flickered ever so imperceptibly. A perfunctory clash, that ended as either expected. And as the seafloor before them dwindled, there was only one path forward - delving into the very darkest depths.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The hymn of the black stone ritual, a deceptively soothing apocalyptic din infecting the abyssal depths. It would reach its crescendo, if all ran smoothly. Yet just a faint bit of harmonic dissonance disrupted its bars, centered on a small point of winged light like a small star. A small voice that was singing its lullaby.</p><p>And this dark, this deep, it was almost that light alone keeping their enemies from sneaking up on them. One spark, and a black-stone scuttling Crassian joined the ranks of the fallen. The barriers, disappearing at regular intervals, the false light winking out.</p><p>“It’s getting closer...I can feel it…” Alcana rasped; with the number of her injuries, healed over as some of them were, it seemed like only sheer determination was carrying her forward.</p><p>“Keep yourselves steady. We are indeed almost there,” Silvarius said; while it was hard to tell from his undead complexion and distance behind, Taraket’s foul arts had definitely left a few scars.</p><p>It was only natural for a bit of fear to creep into Zorial Diamond’s heart. But the young Icyene knew all too well that heroism came from acting in spite of fear and doubt. She looked at the faces behind her, young and old. Thought of the host fighting above to clear their path. She furrowed her brow. A flash in her eyes, and along Sunspear’s augmented crystalline length. Flapped her wings, causing a cloud of bubbles to rise, illuminated like sparkles of starlight.</p><p>“Come on, you two. Let’s finish this.” And now, as she spoke, her own lilting song heralded their approach to the Ambassador’s abyssal bastion.</p><p>They only saw his looming shadow before the beacon of Zorial’s crystalline light traced a cyan outline across Kranon the Ambassador’s form. For a moment, it seemed like they were not at the seafloor at all, but in some portal to a black, distant void, that on closer examination seemed to glitter faintly with the light of distant stars. </p><p>“<b>So...They have finally come here. The first witnesses of His black radiance</b>.” While the dissected dragonkin’s voice was far from quiet, now in the depths it seemed to echo from every direction. Seaweed seemed to tangle into massive hands.The skitterings of aberrations like the above, only far more pronounced in some deep orchestra.</p><p>The Icyene approached first, steeled brow, even stride, gleaming bubbles scattering with every step. Spear, crystals gleaming, gripped more tightly in lithe gauntleted hands.</p><p><b>“Do you not feel chained here in spite of your wings? Cramped, stunted, under the weight of this world?” </b> <b></b><br/>
<b><br/>
</b>Further steps forward. Two more sets of footsteps, following soon behind. A harmonic hum, gems, crystals, illuminated around her form. Cyan light, illuminating the friends beside her, and lifting their eyes.</p><p>“<b>It does not have to be this way. The veil grows thinner. But alas, your eyes have been blinded by your ‘light’.” </b>The Icyene didn’t seem to pay much mind to the shadowy appendages that reached at the glow.</p><p>“Are you done with that high falutin talk yet?” Zorial shot back, now only a few strides away from Kranon, glaring indignantly, holding Sunspear like a pointer in the direction of his maw. “Look, I get it. You’ve all been dealt a bad hand. It is true that I have a lot to deal with. But you’ve been in this darkness so long that you can’t see anything else! And I, we, won’t let you drag the rest of us down with you!”</p><p><b>“That is your answer...Very well, then.” </b> A raised appendage. Cycles of eldritch radiance. The coalescing stars. Magenta fire, lapping at their heels. “ <b>Then you will behold His glory in your demise.”</b></p><p>Streaks of lightning, across the depths, answering in turn. A radiant winged beacon. A white hot flame, a holy star. Shards of power, sinister and serene. Soon, the depths would be calm again…</p><p> </p><p>...but perhaps not the minds of those left it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew, it's the Main Event! Much in the making, from old fic scraplets to Finally Doing ED3 Again for reference. Feat a certain miniboss who was a welcome surprise. I was a lot more nervous about this one, but fortunately it seems to have hit its mark according to lovely prereaders.</p><p>This would have been the end...if this fic had been written in a timely manner. As it stands, there were some juicy reveals in Orthen that are relevant that I'll withhold describing because spoilers... :)</p><p>Stay tuned, and thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Annals of Prehistory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>(Warning: Orthen digsite spoilers up to level 102, and more minor ones for Desperate Times and Desperate Measures!)</p><p>Discoveries made later end up bringing the trio back together to reflect on past events and future challenges...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Nearly two years later… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t the first time Archaeology Guildmaster Silvarius Ivanov nearly tossed something that was very much not junk mail into the junk pile out of sheer habit. It also almost took a dip into his fellstalk tea too before he unwrapped the letter with a familiar draconic-style seal. Their first meeting, following the black stone’s curse, already seemed so short and so long ago. A slight smile across the shadow-scarred undead face.</p><p> </p><p>An invitation from a friend, one long awaited in fact. Finally, the preparations around Orthen were complete to start the dig. And Mr. Mordaut, a not-so-old friend, wanted to have tea and cheese to celebrate the occasion. (Well, he’d be having the tea and the dragon the cheese, but that was beside the point.) It was seemingly no time at all before he found himself in the makeshift office amidst the Anachronian ruins with a wheel of brie and an even fresher pot of fellstalk.</p><p> </p><p>“Seems things have finally calmed down enough after a certain someone’s machinations, and a certain other’s cleanup efforts to finally begin the work,” Silvarius observed, glancing up the gleaming red muzzle and spectacles of his new digsite manager.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed...at present, we have two active sites, a crypt in the west and some sort of outpost in the northeast, with a third currently under investigation with the help of Slayer Master Laniakea. We suspect there may be more, but we may need your expertise once again to pave our way in that department, eh?” Mr Mordaut mused, flicking his wings and licking some of the cheese off his claws before leafing through the digsite documentation. </p><p> </p><p>“Indeed...though this is definitely one area where I have much more learning to do. Sliske had some dealing with the Dragonkin, and the black stone incident, of course, but I suppose I’m up to the challenge,” Silvarius said, sipping his brew of choice and stretching his own warped claw-like hands. “...Maybe not peacetime is the right word, but it’s good to work with you not in a time of...less immediately impending crisis.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if anyone is a quick and adaptive learner, it’s you, Guildmaster!” A roaring chortle, and a couple puffs of smoke from the dragon scholar’s nostrils. “And of course, we’ll be here to assist you, as always. Perhaps the crypt would be a good familiar start, no offense intended?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ll be opting for a change of pace this time. Outpost it is.” Silvarius smiled a slight smile that seemed for a moment, to bring some color back to his undead flesh.</p><p>
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</p><p>That color did not remain long with the slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression on the guildmaster’s now aghast face; a very rare sight for an undead to have ‘seen a ghost’. Yet that is exactly the expression  that Archaeology associate Allison observed as Silvarius scanned over the parchment within the debris of Orthen’s northeastern outpost.</p><p> </p><p>“...Is something wrong, Silvy?” the pink haired young woman inquired, leaning over her supervisor’s shoulder. There was silence for several moments as the Guildmaster composed himself enough to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“...Allison, right now, the most helpful thing you can do for me is to send messages, as quickly as possible, to Zorial Diamond in Priffdinas and Alcana Theresus at the Monastery of St. Domus in Edgeville to meet at the Anachronia base camp, Mordaut’s office. I may have just found something of great and grave interest to us in particular.”</p><p> </p><p>Allison simply nodded; the ink was already flowing on parchment, and soon the familiar skull-faced mail carrier was on his way as the undead Guildmaster had an additional reason to not sleep through the night. Or the next several, for that matter.</p><p> </p><p>It was both an eternity and not long at all before the four of them were clustered in Mordaut’s makeshift office; the scholar dragon himself, the weathered wight, the curious Icyene, and the young paladin. All eyes were on the Guildmaster, who had an immaculate notated transcript curled in his fingers, who adjusted his trillby and cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So...what did you find that was so terrible?” Zorial inquired, breaking the silence before the wight had a finger slightly raised to speak his first word.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe terrible is the wrong word...An important clue, relevant to us is what I’d say.” He cleared his throat once more. “It was...pages from the journal of a particular Dragonkin assigned to look after the spiritual well being of the outpost. With work as grisly as dissection, I can certainly understand that concern…”<br/><br/></p><p>He glanced off to the side, then back to the three pairs of expectant eyes. He rustled the pages somewhat, far more pronounced in the mostly still silence.</p><p> </p><p>“An unlikely friendship developed between this one and the outposts’ main caretaker, Skeka, in word and in deed. A sounding board through grief, sharing poetry, going above and beyond what his duty demanded as a cleric and spiritual advisor,” the guildmaster continued. Another long, unbearable pause. A deep, labored sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“...Sadly, they seemed to be driven to the point of seeking darker powers beyond the veil after Kerapac’s folly shackled them to their curse and doomed their people.” Silvarius finally looked up from the page.</p><p> </p><p>“...What was this dragonkin’s name?” Alcana asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.</p><p> </p><p>“...Would you believe me if I told you we knew it quite well already?” Now the wight was gazing intently at his friends, hoping they would simply read the answer in the reflection of memory in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Zorial’s eyes went wide, as gears like the ones her inventive mind tinkered with clicked together, and she held up a finger.</p><p> </p><p>“...It’s Kranon, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>Silvarius simply nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“You...don’t say…” Alcana muttered, stepping away ever so slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm...There’s certainly a lot to unpack there,” Mordaut commented, adjusting his glasses. </p><p> </p><p>“I think there are several immediate takeaways, from my perspective, “ Silvarius continued, then stacking the annotated transcription on the table and leaving it to the site manager’s care. “One, that we all have firsthand experience of the devastation of both the forces that drove this, the Elders, and this...shadow force that shall remain unnamed, can wreak upon us as mortals, though that’s no news to Zorial here, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me twice indeed,” Zorial affirmed, shuffling slightly. “It’s...not exactly something I can avoid thinking about.”</p><p> </p><p>Alcana simply remained silent, looking down, as the wight continued, now crossing his own unoccupied arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course...this may seem obvious, but while it helps us empathize, none of this excuses what he tried to do with the ritual. That’s coming from someone who’s a bit more familiar with the whole being stuck to a horrible curse for centuries on account of someone else’s sins.”</p><p> </p><p>“So...what do we do?” The paladin looked up slightly. “It just seems like we keep finding what DOESN’T work…”</p><p> </p><p>“Well...we can’t dwell on the past, and turning back the clock was one of those failed solutions,” Zorial mused, shrugging. “We just have to keep moving forward, right?”<br/><br/>“Sometimes there’s no fancy trick to it indeed,” the wight nodded. “Our fight...is far from over. But it’s not one we’re facing alone.”</p><p> </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew, it's done! Time to stew on this made it really into something else...this game really does shine with its story when it wants. And I finished a fic! Man, Archaeology is good...</p><p>Now, to start drafting the 20 other fic ideas I had while writing this one...Stay tuned for more of the Power Trio's adventures, and thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennfics">fennfics</a>,  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler">SaxSpieler</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepulchreRS">SepulchreRS</a> for prereading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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